


Castle of Facade

by yeahcapes



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Boy Calum, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:26:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahcapes/pseuds/yeahcapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calum Hood wasn't exactly what everyone believed. It was just easier for him to let them think what they wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Calum Hood strolls into your literature class, late. It’s a wonder to most of the class that he’s even there at all, but you try not to pay much mind to him. It’s not that you don’t like him, because you’re really rather indifferent. It just isn’t all that important to you to try and figure out his every move. Well, okay, maybe that isn’t exactly true. But you aren’t as judgmental as the rest of your class.

You see, Calum Hood is the neighborhood bad boy: covered in tattoos, ripped black clothing, leather jacket, and attitude to match. He smokes (cigarettes only, as far as anyone knows or sees) and drinks only as much as the average teenager his age. You think he has friends - 3 other boys that you don’t see around much, and have only heard whispers of - but for the most part, he keeps to himself. He shows up to class _sometimes_ and hands in his work _sometimes_ and seems like he gives a damn _never_.

But you’ve noticed Calum, noticed that you can find no real evidence for the rumors about him being a jackass and sure, he’s intimidating as hell, but that’s about all you can really decipher.

And Calum knows that he is not who people’s rumors say he is, but he also knows that he can’t stop people from talking about him, so he lets them. He lets them think what they want, and he continues to keep to himself and put up a front so that no one can get in and find the real Calum Hood. Because it’s better to let the world believe what they want than to open up and have them dislike who he actually is. Calum is perfectly fine being the resident bad boy, and doesn’t intend for that to change.

It’s pretty frustrating for him when your literature teacher, Mr. Barnes, approaches him after class and keeps him from immediately getting to the one class he actually wants to be at: music. He’s informed that if he doesn’t seek help for whatever his problem is in literature, Barnes will have to “have a talk” with his music teacher.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem with me keeping you late in my class if it’s to help you out academically,” he says, and Calum only sighs in defeat before agreeing to Barnes’ terms.

It’s pretty surprising when Mr. Barnes approaches you in the hallway, saying he needs to speak with you. You know you’re doing well, and you know there couldn’t be anything negative for him to say about your class performance, but you still can’t shake the nervous feeling that takes over you. Your fear is validated when Barnes informs you that he’d like for you to tutor one of the students in your class, and he hesitates to tell you a name. You know who it is before he says anything.

“I’m asking you because not only are you a top student, but you’re the person I think would be most willing and most suited to give this a shot. But, if you’re not comfortable with it, I’m not going to force you. I just think Calum would benefit from your help.”

You know Barnes is right - no one else in your class would willingly help out _Calum Hood_ , and you know he’d scoff at any of their attempts to ‘help’ him anyway. Although, you don’t know why he wouldn’t scoff at your attempts either. You aren’t really afraid of him, not the way everyone else is, and you really do like helping people when you can, so you agree.

Ten minutes after the time you’d been informed to meet at the library, Calum finally strolls into the room you’d reserved. The last bit of air that gets through the door before he closes it carries along his scent of smoke, and you try to keep your cough in.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all, “Just had to get in a smoke before we did this. Don’t know how long it’ll take and I just kind of need it, ya know?”

No, you don’t know, but he actually showed up and you’re not angry, so you nod. You motion to the seat beside you and he sits down, taking his backpack off and pulling out some papers. He hands them to you, and you’re surprised because oh this is his copy of the paper due at the end of the week. He actually wrote it. You’d expected to have to help him start it.

“Okay,” you say, “Seems like you’re prepared. If it’s okay, I’d like to read this over and mark it up for you.” You grab the papers, but wait before starting.

“Yeah, yeah, do whatever,” Calum says, leaning back into his chair. He rolls up his sleeves, showing off his tattoo-covered arms, and crosses his left leg on top of his right. He’s the epitome of laid-back, and you slightly envy him. This whole situation has you on edge - not because of Calum’s reputation, but because it’s the first time you’ve actually tutored someone, and because you don’t want to let your literature teacher down. Part of you also hopes that Calum really does get something out of this for his own good.

You jump into reviewing his essay, and find that it’s actually really good. There are plenty of basic mistakes, ones you find yourself making more than you’d like to admit, ones that everyone makes. His organization could use a little work, his writing is slightly scattered, but it’s still _good_. You mark up what should or could be changed, but you also write some positive comments about what you find interesting and what the strengths of his essay are. You’ve always believed that praise is just as important as criticism. It’s important to you that Calum knows not only what he’s doing wrong, but what he’s doing right, so that he really knows the difference.

When you finish, Calum takes the paper from you hesitantly. His usually stoic face slowly turns confused, then something that you can’t quite place.

“You… you wrote some nice stuff on here,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“That I did,” you laugh, “Are you surprised?”

Calum doesn’t want to admit it, because that would mean showing weakness. You couldn’t know that he wasn’t used to this sort of thing. You couldn’t know that you were capable of surprising him.

“Why?” is all he asks.

“I mean, I wanted to show you what to change, but I also wanted to show you what not to change. If all I did was criticize your writing, that wouldn’t fully help you to know what changes to make, and it wouldn’t help you to understand the things you’re doing right. You shouldn’t change the things you’re doing right. Which is actually a lot of what you’ve written.”

He smirks, “ _You_ sound surprised.”

“I mean, you’re the dude who barely shows up to his classes and never turns anything in. What was I supposed to expect?” You say, though really, you aren’t all that surprised. It isn’t a shocker that the quiet ‘bad boy’ is a hidden writer… it actually seems all-too obvious to you. What is shocking, though, is your own boldness, and the fact that you’re actually having a conversation with Calum Hood. “I don’t understand something.”

He waits for you to finish, but you just sit there, staring at him with furrowed brows. Rolling his eyes, he asks, “And what would that be, babe?” You try not to react to the nickname, not sure if it’s a defense mechanism or if he’s purposely trying to rile you up.

“You had this essay all written out and ready. And it isn’t bad on its own. You obviously have the ability to do this, you obviously came prepared… Why don’t you just hand in your work? Or is this the only time you’ve done this?”

Calum shifted in his seat. The truth was, he wrote out every essay for your literature class. He just never handed in the finished products. He loved to write - songs, poems, stories, anything at all. But he and school never got along. He had come to accept that math and science and everything else in-between just were not his calling. Instead of just being labelled as a failure, he had decided long ago to take on the front of just not caring. That had extended to him _not caring_ about just about everything, or so people thought. Writing, and English, well, that was different. If he were to hand in his writing just to get back a bad grade, it would be proof that he wasn’t good at something he really enjoyed. That would be too much for him. So instead, he just didn’t bother. He doesn’t say any of this to you.

“I don’t know,” he says firmly. The look on his face is enough to convince you to drop the subject. You might not be afraid of him the way everyone else was, but he’s still pretty intimidating.

“Well,” you say, “I think you should do more of… this.” You point to his essay. “I meant everything that I wrote on there.”

 

He feels his face flush and immediately looks down, hoping you won’t notice. No one had ever bothered to praise him like you're doing. It is a new, weird experience, and it makes his whole body feel tingly. He doesn’t like this new feeling, because it’s a sign of vulnerability. But, he’s already allowed you to read something he’s written, which is something he’d never let anyone do before. And you weren’t judging him. Maybe, just maybe, you aren’t so bad. And maybe, just maybe, letting himself be a little vulnerable around someone, around you won’t destroy him like he’d thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Calum isn’t sure what your deal is and that bothers him. What bothers him even more is the fact that he’s bothered by this at all. Why should he care? So what, you made him feel a little more worthy than he did before? It had been years since he’d sought out the approval of others, especially others he didn’t really know. He shouldn’t care what you think.

 

But he does.

 

And he finds himself wondering just how honest you are. What if you were just being nice, and lying to him? You seemed like a kind person from what he’d gathered. Yeah, Calum noticed you, too. He noticed the way you seemed to genuinely care about the well-being of others. He noticed that you didn’t flinch whenever he was near. You never whispered to others when he walked by. You didn’t seem scared of him. But, what if you really _had_ been scared of him, scared like everyone else? What if you were just better at hiding it? Too nice to show it? What if his essay sucked and his writing sucked and he’s a failure at that, too?

 

Three days since you’d helped Calum with his essay, you hadn’t talked to him beyond asking him a vague “how’s it going?” you words laced with concern for his assignment. He picked up on it, and assured you with a smug smile that things were going well. (You had no idea of knowing if he was being honest or not, but had faith that he was. Though, you didn't know why you'd asked; you knew he'd do alright as long as he handed the damn paper in.) He doesn’t look so smug today, though, as he sits at his desk, drumming on his knees. You can sense his nervousness as he hands in his essay, and don’t miss him searching around the room to see if anyone is looking at him. His eyes land on you, and you try to give him a reassuring look, but he quickly looks away.

 

The following Monday, Calum comes in, sweatshirt hood up and headphones in, right before the bell rings. He takes the only open seat left, which happens to be next to yours, and plops himself down. You can hear what sounds like Green Day coming from his headphones, and you wonder how he hasn’t lost his hearing yet. When Mr. Barnes comes in, Calum doesn’t notice, and you lightly tug on the chord, not fearing his possibly wrath for you distracting him. Barnes is holding a stack of your class’s papers, and Calum stiffens. He pulls his hood down and headphones out, but keeps his body as calm as he can. For all anyone else knows, he’s just… there. Nothing else.

 

The red “A” on his paper elicits a verbal gasp from Calum, and he shuts his mouth too late. He has most of the class’s attention now, and quickly shoots daggers with his eyes to every onlooker. When his sight lands on you, though, you aren’t looking at him curiously or scared or with judgement. There’s a light in your eyes and you look happy, and he realizes you’ve seen his paper. He goes to hide it but you stop him in his tracks when you say “I knew you were good at this. Congrats.”

 

He doesn’t smile but sits back and whispers a “thank you” that you know only you can hear.

 

It isn’t long before Barnes assigns a new essay and it isn’t long before Calum approaches you. The two of you are the last to leave the classroom, and he’s blocking the door. Your friends are waiting outside, and they don’t miss the interaction, sending you looks of bewilderment. You motion for them to go on to your next class without you, and they do, but not before murmuring amongst themselves with concern for you.

 

“Hey,” Calum says, his voice weaker than usual, but still deep and rough. “I was wondering if we could meet up again, like... you could maybe help me with this next essay?” He looks awkward and unsure of himself, and you find yourself part amused, part pitying. His eyes glance around the room and out in the hallway, surveying the area for other students.

 

“Sure,” you reply, without missing a beat. “Same place, same time, this afternoon.”

  
Calum smiles in relief before moving away from the door. He catches himself and the smile disappears, but you’ve already seen it. You pretend not to, letting him keep up his act, and head to your next class without a word, a smile of your own creeping onto your lips.

You get to the library an hour early so that you can start on your own paper before Calum gets there. To your surprise, before you can turn the corner to the entrance, you see Calum-fucking-Hood himself, leaning against the brick wall of the building. His hair is messy and his skinny black jeans are cuffed at the bottom, showing off his ankles and his t-shirt sleeves are rolled up, showcasing his muscled arms. You have to keep yourself from verbally reacting to the sight - one which turns you on a little bit, not that you're going to say it. He has a cigarette in hand, and you wonder just how long it takes him to get through his smoke breaks; did he really need to be here an hour early? It isn't until Calum's attention turns to you that you realize you've stopped walking in order to gawk at him. He raises a brow and smiles before reaching into his back pocket. In just about the swiftest motion you've ever seen, he's pulled out a pack of cigarettes, opens the top, and offers you one.

"Nah, I'm not looking to cut off my lifespan, thanks," you decline. Calum laughs.

"Alright, fair enough. It really is a bad habit," he says. You still haven't moved from your spot and he takes a drag, never taking his eyes off you. Calum has this way of looking superior without even trying, but it looks like he's trying to stare you straight into the ground. You should be inside, doing some work, rather than letting him intimidate you in a cloud of his second-hand smoke.

So, why aren't you?

"No smoking allowed within fifty feet of this building, you know," you say after a bit. You know Calum doesn't care, but you felt the need to say  _something_ , and teasing him felt natural for some reason.

"Oh shit!" he says, turning to the sign behind him that clearly states **No Smoking** , and a faux-panicked look appears on his face, "Are the coppers gonna come for me? You'd better run, [Y/N]! Don't want to be an accessory to my crimes."

"I'll come visit you in jail," you deadpan, "'Cause I mean, I doubt you'll make bail."

"Mmm, good, 'cause I still need you to review my essay."

Half an hour later the two of you are in the library - ahead of schedule, but you don't think too much about that - talking about possible essay topics. Neither of you have started yet, so you're bouncing ideas back and forth. It's nice, you think, to get this sort of peek into someone else's head, especially someone so mysterious like Calum. Your brains seem to work very similarly, but you find yourself actually envious of some of his ideas. It doesn't bother you so much as intrigues you, though. You want to pick his brain some more, but who knows if you'll get the chance again?

Three hours later you've both typed out unfinished drafts of your essays, and you're content to call it a night. You haven't eaten since lunch and all you want is to stop thinking about the book you've chosen to analyze and get some food that's really bad for you. Calum is all-too-eager to leave, barely getting out a "goodbye" before running out the door. You see him hurrying down the block, getting as far away from the library as he can, before he stops and looks around. The sound of a motorcycle breaks the silence of the evening, and pulls up in front of Calum. He looks around once more before getting onto the second seat of the bike. You sigh, laughing to yourself at the idea that Calum's friend's didn't know what he was doing this afternoon, didn't know he was at the library with you  _working on a literature assignment of his own free will_. Not that you'd tell them and break his cover, you think.

It's not like your own friends know you've been kind of really  _enjoying_ the time you spend with him.

Though, you kind of really wish they did.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ash, Ashton, slow down,” Calum says, smacking his friend in the hip. “I want you to drop me off up there.” He points to a plaza up ahead.

“You want me to wait for you?” Ashton asks, slowing down his motorcycle.

 

“Nah, I’ll just walk home. It’s only a few blocks.”

 

“Good, ‘cause I have shit to do,” Ashton smiles, “Get something good, huh?”

 

Calum salutes his friend with his right hand while flipping him off with his left as Ashton rides way. He turns around, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and heads towards the liquor store. Damian, who stands at the register, knows Calum is underage, but pretends he believes the crude fake ID that’s been handed to him. It’s a pattern that repeats itself over and over again every month without a problem, mostly because Damian knows Calum’s older sister and thinks fondly of her. He slips the whiskey into his bag before exiting, and steps out into the cool night.

 

He’s not ready to go home, and he’s sort of starving, so he walks up the plaza, feeling through his pocket for the last of his money. The KFC in front of him sounds about as good as anything in that moment, and he knows he has enough to get what he wants.

 

You decide to stop at the plaza behind your house for a late dinner, and, not wanting to go back home yet, sit yourself at a table and dig in. You don’t pay any attention to the other people around you, too focused on devouring your meal to care about the tall figure walking in through the door behind you.

 

Calum’s placed his order and leans sideways on the counter, taking in the smell of fast food chicken and potatoes and the like. He stands back up straight and turns to face the counter when he notices you sitting at a table not too far away. _This can’t be happening_ he thinks. Why are you here?

 

But you haven’t seen him, and he thinks that maybe he can slip away without a word. He thinks. For a moment.

 

“Oh look, it’s the mute,” you hear. It’s one of your classmates, Brandon. He’s there with his girlfriend and their group of friends and you wish you could just sink into the chair you’re sitting in and disappear.

 

You only have one class with him and a couple at most with the others, and sure, you don’t speak up much in class, but that’s just because you don’t talk unless you have something to say. And no, you don't say things to other people just to knock them down and build yourself up. Unlike them, the loud-mouths that they are. And maybe you don’t rule the school and talk to every single person you see, but why would you need to? You have your group of friends and are friendly enough to everyone else but sometimes you like to be alone, big deal. You don’t know why Brandon gets on your case all the time. And you don’t know why it bothers you so much.

 

And of course he’s caught you alone.

“What, cat got your tongue?” Brandon asks when you still haven’t said anything. You’ve taken out your phone to distract yourself, trying to ignore him.

 

Calum balls his fists on the counter, trying to regulate his breathing. He can’t stand Brandon, he knows he’s trying to rile you up, knows his bark is worse than his bite, and while Calum wouldn’t need much excuse to knock the kid’s head off, he knows he’s in a public establishment and he’d rather not get into a fight at all if he doesn’t have to. He still doesn’t want to be noticed, either. But he has a gut feeling that things are going to go downhill from here. His order is handed to him, but he places it down, waiting.

 

When Brandon doesn’t lay off, he turns around and walks over to you with his food. He sits in the seat across from yours, and you look up. You’re relieved - though confused - to see Calum, and not Brandon in front of you.

 

Calum hopes his presence near you will be enough to get Brandon to quit it, but it isn’t.

 

“Oh how fitting. Two quiet losers sharing a table.”

 

“Fuck off, man,” Calum growls.

 

You still haven’t said a word, and honestly don’t know if you can. What’s happening? You look between the boy in front of you and your bully for the night. Calum’s face is hard, and you can see his usually tanned features turning red. Brandon’s just laughing.

 

“Why should I?” he asks. “You guys just make it so damn easy.”

 

“Don’t have anything better to do than pester an innocent person? Don’t have the self-respect to keep your trap shut?” He glares at Brandon, who’s seething. “I’m not going to warn you again. Leave her alone. If you can’t, we can handle this outside.” Calum’s standing now, towering over Brandon’s average-sized frame.

 

“Ooh, protecting your little damsel in distress, huh? Who knew criminals could be so chivalrous? Looking to lock in that conjugal visit? Not that the prude over there would ever put out.”

 

Calum has had enough of this, and grabs the boy in front of him by his collar, leading him outside. Brandon’s smug expression quickly turns to anger, and he tries to free himself.

 

“You jackass! Let go of me!”

 

Calum doesn’t. You can hear Brandon yelling something about calling the cops, and suddenly you’re terrified about what the outcome of tonight’s events will be. You sit frozen in your seat, watching as Calum drags Brandon to the ground. You detest the violence, but you can’t look away from the scene in front of you. Calum gets in a few good punches, but not without being on the receiving end of a couple himself. In a matter of minutes, though, he comes out victorious, and Brandon scampers back to his car. You hear his friends hurrying to get up and join him, and watch them try their best to avoid Calum as they exit. They’re all frightened.

 

It occurs to you that maybe you should be frightened, too. But you’re not.

 

It seems like hours before Calum walks back into the restaurant, and you panic when you see the blood on his face and the bruises on his eye that are already turning purple. He avoids eye-contact with you, but you won’t have any of that.

 

“What was that?” you ask.

 

“That was Brandon being an asshole and me teaching him a lesson,” Calum stated simply, sitting down and placing his hands by his meal. All he had wanted to do was get some chicken and go home and eat it...

 

“I… You didn’t have to beat him up.”

 

“Would you rather he kept pestering you all night while you sit there trying to avoid him. Unsuccessfully, might I add?”

 

“No, I guess, but I was going to leave soon anyway, and I’m sure you have better things to do, it just… You didn’t have to do that,” you repeat. Calum isn’t understanding what you’re getting at. But you can’t get yourself to be more blunt.

 

Except, Calum does understand what you’re getting at. He just doesn’t want to answer because he’s not entirely sure himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d roughed someone up on the behalf of another person, but this was… different. It felt more personal than just teaching an asshole a lesson about being an asshole to those who are weaker.

 

“Look, don’t overthink it.”

 

“Thank you,” you say, not sure if the words are enough. This whole situation was weird to you, weird for Calum, too. “Hey,” you begin,“Do you have a ride?” You remember him being picked up after the library.

 

“No, but I only live a few blocks away. It’s cool.”

 

“Let me drive you home. My car’s right outside and it’s the least I can do.”

 

“Really, I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

 

“Clearly,” you say, “But I’m not taking _no_ for an answer.”

 

“No,” Calum says, leaning towards you while looking straight into your eyes.

 

“Okay, now I’m driving you home and I’m going to clean up those cuts and get you some ice or something for your eye.”

 

“What? [Y/N] I said no.”

 

“And every time you say no, I’m just going to add onto my list of nice things I’m going to do. You’re getting real close to me bringing you to my house instead and making you some tea with honey and lemon.”

 

Calum can’t help but laugh; you’re being ridiculous, and he doesn’t really hate it. It crosses his mind that he could use some more innocent ridiculousness in his life.

  
“No tea. You can take me to _my_  home and help me fix myself up - on my terms, and when I tell you to leave, you leave. Got it?” he says firmly. You nod, happy and surprised that you’ve worn him down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more of a filler, I guess. But it's important in terms of setup.

Calum grabs his bag and you gather what you haven’t finished and the two of you head out to your car. It’s a two-minute drive, but it feels more like two hours with Calum sitting in your passenger seat. You don’t regret your offer, but things suddenly seem heavy in the silence of your car. Calum’s voice cuts through the quiet, to your relief, to give you instructions on where to turn, and soon enough, you’ve arrived.

 

He leads you down to the basement, where his bedroom is located along with its very own bathroom. He fumbles through his things before pulling out a first aid kit. It seems well-used, and you know instantly that he knows just how to fix himself up. And you feel instantly dumb for thinking you’d actually be helping him by offering your assistance. Your train of thought is broken when Calum hands you a small towel.

 

“Can you wet this? Like, not soaked, just dampen it.”

 

You nod and do as he instructs, wetting the cloth in the sink of his bathroom. When you’re done, you find Calum on his bed, holding a frozen bag of peas to his face. He has a grimace, from the chill, but he looks fairly relaxed otherwise.

 

“Those things that come in the kit just don’t cut it,” he says when he sees you. “Ah,” he adjusts the pack, “Would you mind, uh…” He stops, feeling awkward. He doesn’t really _need_ your help, he’s done this routine alone before. But it definitely makes things easier since you’re here… And you’d offered and you're already there… He wasn’t going to deny your assistance.

 

“Do you want me to wash off the blood?” you ask, so he doesn’t have to.

 

He mumbles out a “yes, please,” without so much as looking at you, and you get to work. By now, the blood has mostly dried, so you’re extra careful not to hurt him when you rub his face and neck. You don’t think about how intimate of an act this is, how close you are to Calum, how soft his skin is despite the cuts. He doesn’t think about the way your hair tickles his skin in a nice way when you lean over him, or how your hands are so gentle and comforting. No, neither of you think about these things.

 

When you’ve finished, you wash out the towel and Calum points out a laundry basket for you to toss it in. You’re ready to leave, knowing the terms you’d agreed to, and not wanting to trouble the boy in front of you.

 

“So uh, I guess I’ll head out,” you say, backing up towards the stairs. Calum makes a sort of groaning noise from his spot on his bed, which he’s now fully laying on, and you take that as your cue to leave, so you start up the steps.

 

“Wait,” he says, to his own surprise. You stop and turn, confused. “Um, thanks for the help. You uh, didn’t have to do that.”

 

“You didn’t have to come to my defense earlier. We’re even,” you smile. Calum doesn’t.

 

“Uh, we never finished our essays,” he says, and you’re not sure where this train of thought came from.

 

“No, we didn’t,” you reply. “I figured I’d finish up tonight or tomorrow, but it’s looking more like tomorrow.”

 

“Can we, uh, meet again this week to uh, review? You helped a lot last time and I… it couldn’t hurt, I guess. It’ll keep Barnes off my case, anyway.”

 

“You earned that A yourself, but sure. I could use someone to help me and edit my papers, too.”

 

“Cool,” Calum says. “Uh, we could meet here if you want, rather than the library. Then I can smoke in peace before you get here and we can maybe eat some food without running into asswipes from school? Tomorrow at 4?”

 

“Okay. Tomorrow at 4.” You keep your smile to a minimum and wave goodbye before heading back to your car.

 

Calum Hood just keeps surprising you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you guys think of this story so far! I'm not sure how long it's going to end up being, but I've got a plan in my head for at least a couple more chapters.


	5. Chapter 5

“[Y/N]!”

 

You turn around to see your friend Sam rushing toward you. She looks both panicked and relieved to see you, and you think you know why.

 

“Oh my gosh, you’re okay. I was so worried.”

 

“And why is that?” you ask, knowing you were going to be told anyway.

 

“Um, hello, did you forget to inform me of what happened last night? With Calum? Brandon won’t stop talking about it. Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, right?”

 

“No, Brandon didn’t touch me.”

 

“Not Brandon, dumb-dumb.”

 

“Calum? No, why would Calum hurt me?”

 

“Were you not there last night? What’s gotten into you?”

 

“Sam, you do know that Brandon was being a jackass last night, right?”

 

“Yeah, but when isn’t he? And anyway, he’s just immature, it’s not like he’s really a bad person. I heard that Calum almost killed him. No one deserves that.”

 

You sigh and roll your eyes. “Do you really believe everything Brandon says?”

 

“No, but come on. This is _Calum Hood_ we’re talking about.”

 

“Listen, Brandon was picking on me and Calum stood up for me - a little more violently than I’d have liked, sure, but he didn’t _almost kill_ anyone.”

 

You hear Sam scoff and suddenly you’re feeling a little angry. And no, you tell yourself, this isn’t about Calum. It's because, why is she so adamant about believing _Brandon_? She knows how he pushes your buttons.

 

“Alright, alright,” Sam says, noticing that you look on edge. She puts her hands up in surrender. “I know Brandon’s an ass, I’m just surprised that you’re so _chill_ about Calum. Although, you’ve never told me about those tutoring sessions, which, I can’t believe Barnes is making you do. What’s that been like?”

 

“Well, Barnes only asked me do it once, though he didn’t actually force me or anything,” Sam raises her brows and you lower your voice before continuing, “I don’t think he wants anyone to know, but Calum’s the one who approached me about getting more help. You know, he’s actually a really good writer. Maybe even as good as me,” you smile.

 

Sam looks dumbfounded. “What the _fuck_? Are you sure this is Calum Hood we’re talking about? _The_ Calum Hood?”

 

“Yeah, I am. I don’t know, Sam. Do any of us really have any right to judge him? No one really knows him; we only know the rumors that get spread around. I don’t think he’s half as bad as people say.”

 

“You don’t think so, even after he got into a fight in front of you last night?”

 

“He was defending me. It was actually pretty noble if you think about it.”

 

“Oh no, [Y/N] you’re getting some dreamy, far-off look in your eyes, stop it! Don’t tell me you’re into the whole bad boy thing. That’s such a cliche.”

 

“No,” you insist, “It’s just… There’s more to him than you guys think. It’s interesting.”

 

“Alright, well… be careful, please.”

 

“He’s not going to hurt me.”

 

“Yeah, you tell yourself that.”

 

“He’s not,” you say firmly.

 

“Okay. But I’m here for you if anything happens.”

 

The first bell for homeroom rings and you say your goodbyes to Sam and head inside. You wish she was more open-minded, but then again, you understand her concern. She just doesn’t see things the way you do.

 

Calum is sitting outside the school with his friends when he hears the bell ring. He’s leaning against the back of the building while Luke and Michael play-fight each other, and to Calum, it looks a lot more like hugging than wrestling. He smirks, and Michael notices.

 

“What’re you looking at? Care to tell us about those bruises, big shot?”

 

“Yeah man,” Luke pipes up, separating himself from Michael. “I heard Brandon talking some shit earlier.”

 

“He always talks shit. He is shit,” Calum offers.

 

“Not gonna argue with that. But I heard something interesting,” Luke continues. It’s his turn to smirk.

 

“And what might that be?” Calum sighs, trying his best to sound disinterested.

 

“Rumor has it that you fought with him about _[Y/N] [Y/L/N_ ]. Now, why would I be hearing that?”

 

“A lot of bullshit rumors circulate around this school dumbshit.”

 

Luke doesn’t reveal that he heard this story from _you_ , when he may or may not have overheard you talking with Sam. He doesn’t need to. He can tell he’s hit a nerve with Calum.

 

“Mhmm. You know man, you can tell us stuff. We’re not the ones that are trying to tear you down. And if we do, it’s because you let your ego get too big.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know that. It’s not important, okay? Brandon was being his usual self, so I roughed him up a bit; [Y/N] just so happened to be there, and just so happened to be his target for the night. I was in a bad mood so I reacted. He really shouldn’t pick on people when he’s such a poor excuse for a person, and he needs to know that.”

 

“Okay,” Luke replies. He’s ready to drop the subject, for now. But Calum’s acting different, and he wants to know why.

 

Calum just wants his ‘friends’ to stop digging into his life. Their whole friendship was surface level, and he had always liked that. They could eat pizza and play covers of songs and take bets on video games and make jokes and drink together, but they never _talked_ about things, not really. Luke and Michael did, and Ashton too, maybe, but they’d always been content to let Calum just _exist_. That was how he liked it.

 

“You in?” Calum hears Michael ask, and he looks up at the red-haired boy, confused. He'd been too lost in his thoughts to pay attention. Michael laughs, “We’re drinking by the pier tonight at like 5. You in?”

 

And yeah, that sounds great, but Calum has plans and he’s the one who initiated them in the first place and he still wants to see you, so he keeps his face straight and says “Nah man, I think I just want to chill alone tonight” and his friends buy it because _that’s Calum for you_.

  
As you leave your homeroom Sam asks if you want to get together tonight to work on a project for your science class. And yeah, that sounds great, but you have plans and you find yourself not wanting to let Calum down for some reason, so you keep a straight face and tell Sam the truth. She gives you a look to say, “really?” but she gets it, sort of, in her own way, and tells you she’ll be at your house tomorrow instead. She's content to leave it at that because there never has been a time when she could quite pin you down, _that’s [Y/N] for you_.


	6. Chapter 6

When 4 o’clock rolls around, you're parked outside of Calum’s house. It looks different, friendlier in the early evening light and a small part of your mind reminds you that appearance is relative.

Calum is already outside - waiting? you wonder - on the porch steps. He’s engrossed in his phone, from what you can see, but he knows he’s not paying attention as he scrolls through twitter. He sees you in his periphery but waits until you approach him to look up.

“Hey,” you start, but he’s already up and turned around, opening the door. He holds it open and motions for you to go on in. You do, and he closes the door behind you both, making extra sure to lock it and close the small blinds on the door’s window.

“My parents are gonna be home around six, so if you’re still here and hear noises at that time, it’s just them.”

“Okay.”

“Because I tell my friends and other people that all the time and they just like, don’t get it. I don’t understand. I mean, like,  _I told you_ , no need to freak out, ya know? We don’t live in some fairytale where there are dragons and evil queens and vampires that are gonna pop out and destroy us like don’t you know what a car sounds like? Have you never met another human with a pair of keys? It’s ridiculous and-

Calum stops rambling when he hears you giggle. You’re trying your best not to, you really are, but you can’t help it. He’s usually a man of few words, so to hear him ramble is so…  _strange_  and  _funny_  in a sort of adorable way. You wonder for a moment what caused his usually ‘cool’ exterior to break down and shift into blabbering. But only for a moment, because Calum’s leading you - a little too quickly, perhaps - into the dining room. His laptop is out, along with what you presume to be his finished essay, and you settle yourself down next to where he’s placed his things.

“Okay,” you start, taking out your essay. “Last time _I_  looked at  _your_  essay, but I figured this time you could look at mine, too.”

“Uh, I don’t think you want me to edit your essay, [Y/N].”

“Sure I do.”

“I don’t know the first thing about editing. I’d probably make your essay worse.”

“Calum, you need to stop doing that,” he looks at you confused and you continue, “Stop tearing yourself down. You know what to do. And if you get stuck, think about the stuff I wrote on yours last time. Just… if you see something that looks wrong or sounds weird or confusing or whatever, write a comment. Write a comment for anything that stands out, I guess, good or bad. You’re not going to ruin my essay. And besides, practice makes perfect. It’ll be good for you to learn how to edit other people’s papers; it might help you to be better at self-editing your own.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, but takes your essay from you.

“Fine.”

And even though he’s not sure where he should start, it isn’t soon before Calum gets into a groove of editing your paper. He’s still unsure about some of what he’s written, he knows you’re smart enough to ignore any bad ‘corrections’ he makes, and he’s less worried than when he started. It’s nice for him, too, to be doing something that makes him feel useful rather than sitting while you do all the work helping him. It feels strangely nice. And he doesn’t think too much about the fact that he’s  _enjoying_  spending time doing  _homework_. He also doesn’t think about the fact that when he steals glances,  you look sort of adorable when you’re so concentrated. He doesn’t think about that at all, and he doesn’t have to force himself to get back into your essay… nope, not at all.

You finish well before Calum, and wonder if it’s just because he’s not used to this or maybe you didn’t do a thorough enough job with your own editing or maybe your essay isn’t as good as you thought, but… Calum’s eyes crinkle and his lips curl upward as he reads something on your last page - you know exactly what it is that he’s (trying not to be) laughing at and you breathe in relief. He writes down a sentence or two, finishes reading, and then looks up. He still has a hint of a smile on his face. You don’t think about the fact that you think you’re really enjoying spending time like this with Calum, as mysterious and unreal as he always was to you. You also don’t think about the fact that though his smile is slight, it’s lighting up his whole face. You don’t think about that at all, and you don’t have to force yourself back into reality to hand Calum his essay.

He hands yours to you, and you read through his actually, helpful criticisms. And you’re excited to find that he’s complimented the parts you were most proud of. You can see that smile forming on his face again as he reads through your marks, and he looks less surprised than the first time.

“Hey,” he says after you’ve both made some adjustments to your papers. “Are you hungry?” The clock says it’s almost five o’clock and you wonder how the time went by that fast.

You haven’t answered before he’s up and grabbing what looks like menus.

“I’d cook, but then we’d be eating broken fried eggs or burned toast or something.” He places the menus on the table. “Unless you’d rather call it a night and go home or whatever.” His voice sounds casual, but Calum has always been good at that. He wants you to stay, though he doesn’t know why he feels so adamant about it.

“I could use some food,” you say. “I don’t know how many calories writing a paper burns, but I like to think it’s a lot.”

“Seriously, I feel like I deserve a cake or something after that. What an accomplishment,” Calum replies. “So uh, pizza good? Or?”

“Pizza’s great.”

“Good. Preference?”

“Um, I think I’m just feeling cheese.”

“Ooh, so boring. But alright. Your pizza your call.”

“And what are you getting, then?”

“Uh, Hawaiian, duh.”

“Seriously?”

“What? Pineapple and ham? The best.”

“Psh okay, if you say so.”

“Hey, you don’t judge me and I won’t judge you for being  _boring as shit_.”

You roll your eyes, “Deal.”

You offer to chip in for your pizza, but Calum refuses. You slip your share of the bill onto his counter when he’s on the phone ordering. The two of you pass the time by mostly teasing each other, and you’re alright with that. It seems to be the closest thing Calum has to friendly conversation, and to be honest, you feel a little privileged to be on the receiving end of his light-hearted jokes.

Calum just wants to talk to you, he doesn’t want things to be awkwardly silent, so he teases you in whatever ways he can. He tries not to be mean, because he isn’t a mean person, not really, and he doesn’t want to scare you away. But he doesn’t know how to be straightforward and friendly the way that you are. That just isn’t who he is, and he accepted that long ago, so kidding around with you is all he’s got. And he’s relieved when you joke right back, humoring him in his version of conversation.

When the pizza arrives you’ve both moved to the living room and are watching something mind-numbing.

So you eat and make jokes at the television show rather than each other and laugh and another hour passes like nothing. Calum’s about finished off his pizza, but you’ve still got half of yours left when the last episode of the show ends, and you decide that  _maybe_  you should really get home. It’s still a school night, and while it’s not super late and you’re having a nice time, your essays are done and you don’t really have an excuse to stay.

Calum knows that you’re ready to leave and while yeah, part of him is trying to come up with some dumb excuse to make you stay, he knows that you have no reason to. And he doesn’t want to keep you somewhere you probably don’t want to be when you could be doing your other normal life things... Whatever it is you do on weeknights when you’re not helping the loser rebel do his homework.

So you grab your stuff and say goodbye and Calum shifts awkwardly where he stands as he watches you walk off to your car. And you look back a little too long in your rearview and he turns away from his window. And both of you wonder why you feel so  _different_  all of a sudden. 


	7. Chapter 7

Calum doesn’t talk to you at school, not really, not like a friend would - not that you’d expect him to. But, you have to admit that it is a little disappointing. You’d genuinely had fun the night before, and seen a side of him that you weren’t sure many other people got to see. And you thought that maybe _that_ was the real Calum Hood. Not the emotionless tough guy he let everyone believe he is. But, why did he even let you see him like that at all?

 

Calum wants to talk to you at school but he doesn’t. He’s not sure what to do about the recent change in his… _feelings_. Without meaning to, he’d sort of let you into his life, and he wasn’t entirely regretting it. But where did things go from there? He couldn’t let you get the wrong impression, he isn’t some sappy dude who’s gonna change for a nice, pretty person that strolls into his life.

 

So the day goes by and time goes on and eventually you and Calum fall into a pattern of meeting every week to do your literature homework together. It progressed from just essays to… everything. You interpret readings together and debate or add on to each other’s ideas. You make dumb jokes that you thought Shakespeare would appreciate and criticize some of the more pretentious authors you were reading.

 

And Calum slowly starts to _not care_ that you’re becoming a more permanent fixture in his life. He’s starting to consider you a _friend_ , someone he _cares_ about. Though he’s wary to go so far as to admit it. His other friends know better - once they learn _why_ he’s been disappearing on them more than usual - but decide to let him figure it out on his own.

 

And he does, sort of.

 

Calum walks into band practice (he, Ashton, Luke, and Michael all call it practice, but Calum isn’t sure if what they do is really good enough to give a name to) and sits down, paper in hands. His leg bounces, indicating he’s anxious, and Ashton notices.

 

“What’s up, man?” he asks, not really expecting a straight answer.

 

Calum hesitates before speaking, “Uh, so I know we usually just stick to covers, and the other songs I’ve written are so.. I don’t know. I just… I wrote this song this week and it’s different that what I usually bring to you guys but thought maybe we could try and work something out. It might suck and you guys can tell me if it does I just can’t get it out of my head. It’s not completely finished either but I’ve got the first verse and choruses down already I just need help with it.” He breathes as quietly as he can, cursing himself for rambling.

 

“Sure, dude,” Ashton replies, taking the lyric sheet Calum’s holding. Michael and Luke walk around to where he’s sitting and the three of them read the lyrics.

 

They haven’t said anything when they look up at at Calum. His face is solemn, almost.

 

“Don’t be too harsh, okay? I don’t know where any of that came from.”

 

Luke smirks, “I do.” Ashton smacks him.

 

“Cal, this is great. Different, sure, but I like it. I think we all like it,” Michael chimes in.

 

They don’t ask who the song is about - they already have an idea, and don’t want to embarrass Calum (well, Michael and Ashton don't). Bringing it up would only cause him to withdraw from them. And really, what is written is good, and even though it’s different from their usually more grungy, “fuck The Man; fuck The System” style, it’s workable and it’s raw and _real_. And it’s a side of their friend they haven’t been able to see before.

 

So Calum sings out what he imagined the song to sound like and Ashton works out something on the drums and Michael harmonizes while Luke starts strumming on his guitar. They spend the rest of their practice actually practicing, trying to clean up Calum’s song - of course, still goofing around and having fun while doing so. And Calum feels less anxious than he was before, thinking that maybe these new feelings he has aren’t so bad, if only for the inspiration they’ve given him.

 

He doesn’t mean to leave the final lyrics on his dining room table, but Calum’s a little absent-minded sometimes. It remains there until the next time you find yourself at his house, ready to discuss your next class assignment. And you won’t admit that you’re nosy, at least when it comes to Calum, even as you set down your things and eye the paper curiously. He walks in the room with a laptop in hand, but doesn’t miss your gaze. His eyes widen and he places his computer down as quickly and carefully as possible before yanking the lyric sheet from the table.

 

“Sorry, uh, this was just some scrap paper I left there. I can be a bit, uh, messy sometimes. Uh, I’ll be right back.” He exits the room, walking past the trash can and recycle bin placed conveniently in the kitchen, and you look between them and him when he walks back in.

 

“Scrap paper?” you ask. He catches the disbelief in your voice and his brain starts working a million miles an hour to try and help him _calm the fuck down_.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So you don’t throw away your trash, or recycle?”

 

Calum looks behind him and groans internally. Why couldn’t he have just remembered to put the damn paper in his room? He doesn’t have another lie ready, and is at a genuine loss for words.

 

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me. If it’s personal or something, that’s cool. I don’t mean to pry, I was just curious,” you say apologetically.

 

“It’s song lyrics,” Calum blurts immediately once you’ve finished. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m sorry I lied. It’s not really a big deal.” _It is a big deal,_ he thinks.

 

“You write songs?”

 

“Um, yeah. I try, anyway. I play bass and sing a bit too, not that I’m super good at that or anything but I’m in a band and that’s my role so… Anyway we kind of suck although sometimes we kind of don’t but it’s fun and chill so it’s whatever...” he stops himself, realizing he’s rambling. He makes a mental note that he really needs to stop doing that around you.

 

“That’s so awesome. Personally, I like writing fictional stories. I’m pretty private about them though, so I completely get the whole _not wanting to tell me about the lyrics_ thing. I think that’s a common writer thing.”

 

“You write stories?” Calum asks, glad he has an excuse to shift the attention off himself.

  
“Yeah. Like I said, fiction. Though, I believe that fiction is a way of telling a truth. I put a lot of my life and experiences and beliefs into those stories, so they’re kind of personal. That’s why I don’t share them, really. I’m sure songwriting is like that. Personal, I mean.”

 

“Yeah,” Calum replies. “Personal… Uh, what kind of stories do you write?”

 

You’re both sitting at the table now, homework sprawled out but untouched. You really should get to work, but a little procrastination wouldn’t hurt, you think. So you tell him, more than you’ve told some of your friends, and you don’t mean to, but it all just spills out of you. And you’re aware that you’re giving much more information to Calum than he’s giving you, but it’s conversation - _real_ conversation, not just teasing - and he seems genuinely interested, so you continue on and don’t pester him too much about his songwriting.

 

It takes an hour longer than it should have, but you and Calum finish your homework and you eat - spaghetti this time, Calum’s mom is home and he insists that she makes the best spaghetti in the world, and when she offers to make some you know that you can’t say no.

 

And you’re thinking of a new story idea as you’re about to leave. Calum walks you to the door, and you say “goodbye” but he asks you,

 

“Will you ever let me read one of your stories?”

  
“Sure,” you reply, “As soon as you let me hear one of your songs.” You smile at him before walking out, confident that there’s no way that’d happen.


	8. Chapter 8

Calum knows that your intention is to keep your stories a secret. He knows you well enough by now. But he also knows that he’s more aware of your personality than you are of his, as much as you’d like to believe you’ve got a grasp on him. And what you don’t know is that he’s up for your challenge.

You never did specify  _what_  song you wanted to hear, and he’d shown you plenty of his academic writing already, so what could  _one_  hurt? He had plenty of surface level picks that he could choose from. No need to dig too deep and let in you in too much; no need to reveal his latest writing endeavor.

And so you find him waiting for you after school, leaning against your car. There isn’t anyone around, but you notice Calum glance around anyway, just in case. That doesn’t bother you, you tell yourself.

“Hey, I figured we could go straight to my house if you don’t have anything to do first,” he says, standing up straight. “I have something I need to show you.”

You don’t have anything dire that needs to be sorted out before your weekly study session, so you tell Calum to get in the passenger’s seat, and you drive to his house. He leads you down into his room for the first time since the incident with Brandon, and invites you to sit on his bed. It’s the only place to sit besides the floor, but there are still butterflies flying around your stomach when you feel his surprisingly soft sheets under your hands. Calum is rifling through a drawer beside you, his bottom lip caught under his teeth in determination, until he pulls out a sheet of paper.

“Aha. Here it is. I probably won’t need it, but it’s been awhile since I’ve played this one,” he says softly, and you think he’s mostly talking to himself. He places the paper next to you on his bed and tells you, “Don’t touch that. I need it. Hold on.”

In a minute he’s grabbed a guitar and plopped himself next to you.

“What’s going on?” It’s the first you’ve spoken since your car ride. Calum had refused to tell you what was so urgent that you had to go over to his house right then. But of course, you went anyway.

“You told me that you’d only let me read one of your stories if you got to hear one of my songs. So, I’m going to play you one that I wrote. Well, my buddies and I did. They usually help me out with them. I hope this still counts.” He stops, wondering if you have any conditions.

“Yeah,” you laugh, a little nervous, “That still counts.” You were honestly confused. Was he _really_  going to play a song for you? This wasn’t part of your plan.

“Good,” he smiles. “Don’t be too harsh. Not that you would be, because you never are, even when I maybe deserve it. This one is called Rejects.”

And so he plays the song for you and you find yourself sucking in a breath when you hear his low, raspy singing voice for the first time and  _wow Calum Hood can sing… he can really fucking sing_. And his lyrics hit a little more close to home than he maybe even realized when he picked it out because you find yourself understanding him a hell of a lot more when he sings out “they call me crazy so I play along” while he’s wincing when he realizes the depth of his words. But it’s all so good and you wish for a moment that everyone could see this Calum, completely in his element, and so beautifully talented, full of endless potential.

“Wow,” is all you can say when he’s done. He smiles shyly, and damn he actually looks bashful. The look disappears as quickly as it came, though, and he clears his throat.

“So uh, I think we had a deal.” He smirks when you look down in embarrassment. He knows you’ll keep your promise, even if it’s something you never meant to happen. And you sort of hate yourself for underestimating Calum’s need to get what he wants.

You also sort of hate yourself for carrying along a journal wherever you go, with stories readily available. It’s not in you to lie just to stall for time; might as well rip the bandaid and get it over with. And Calum reads your chosen story, which isn’t too different from his own song, showcasing the feelings of an outcast, and you can see a sort of recognition in his eyes as they scan your pages. It’s a personal story, more  _personal_  than  _story_ , maybe, but it’s some of your best work, and you want to show him something you’re proud of.

“You’re such a good writer,” he says, “But I’m sure you already know that. I uh, really like your main character.”

You want to know more about what he thinks, why he likes your main character so much, but you don’t want to push Calum away, so you just say, “Thanks.” And you don’t know what else to say to him, things have kind of come to a strange lull, and neither of you have anything to add.

And you don’t know if you’re happy to have let him see your personal writing or not. Even if he liked it. Even if him liking it makes your body feel all warm and light. You still feel like you’re revealing more about yourself to him than you’re getting in return, because really, you’re only making assumptions, maybe you’re just thinking wishfully, and suddenly, it doesn’t seem quite fair. You don’t want to let yourself be an open book.

Sure, Calum’s the  _bad boy_   who you’ve realized likes to hide himself from the world. But he’d started to let you in, only to keep the door open just halfway. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up, but maybe he shouldn’t have let you in at all.

“[Y/N]” Calum says, cutting through your thoughts. You look up, raising your eyebrows. “Thanks for, uh, letting me read that. I can tell it means something to you.”

“You did let me hear one of your songs,” you say, your tone flat.

“That song means something to me, too.” You look up, suddenly feeling guilty. “I… Thanks for being so understanding with me, [Y/N]. I just… I’m not used to having friends besides my bandmates. I hope you know that I don’t do this shit for just anyone.” He’s not sure where he’s going with this, but he had noticed you looking solemn, and the words just spill out. A small smile spreads across your face and you can’t help it.

“So, we’re friends?” You considered him your friend by now, but had never actually said it, out of fear that maybe Calum didn’t see things that way.

“Of course. Do you see me spending every week with just any dipshit from school? I don’t waste my time with people I don’t consider to be friends. Unless of course, you-”

“Good. I like having you as a friend.”

And it’s Calum’s turn to smile. He lets himself feel happy, for once not questioning the tingling sensation that fills his body when he thinks about you. The regret he thought he might feel after playing that song for you hadn’t appeared, and he wonders for a moment if you’d ever want to hear more. He wouldn’t mind seeing you eye him the way you had that afternoon again. It gave him a new sort of confidence that he definitely enjoyed.

It’s a weight of his chest to admit - out loud - that he and you were friends. But that’s all he’s ready to admit. 


	9. Chapter 9

The next day you realize you’d left your journal at Calum’s house, and a nervous feeling fills your stomach. Not a good nervous. You really don’t know if he’d be nosy enough to look through it, but you need to get your journal back as soon as you can. So when you arrive at school, you separate yourself from your friends and attempt to find Calum, wondering if he’s even there at all. You know that sometimes you’ve seen him walking towards the side of the building with Luke Hemmings and Michael Clifford, and sure enough, you see Luke skating over to the spot. **  
**

You call out his name and he stops in his tracks, surprised to hear someone - to hear  _you_  - saying his name. He turns around to look at you, left brow raised, a look of amusement across his features.

“Can I help you, babe?” he asks, the amused look never leaving his face.

“I… yeah, uh,” you sort of didn’t think you’d get this far and you’d never actually spoken to any of Calum’s friends before. “Do you know where Calum is? I need to ask him something.”

“I can pass the message along if you want, or just tell him that you need to speak to him,” Luke offers. As much as he likes to break Calum’s chops, he’s wary about leading you to him. He knows his friend won’t be happy about it.

“No, thank you. I need to speak directly to him,” you answer. And you’re not sure why you’re so adamant, because you know Calum will find you if Luke tells him to, but you suddenly feel it necessary to see him  _right then_.

Luke hears a fire behind your voice and thinks that he likes it. Thinks that maybe Calum isn’t doing too bad for himself by hanging around you. Thinks that maybe you could give him that kick in the pants he so desperately needs sometimes. Thinks he doesn’t care if Calum gets mad at him for bringing you to their spot, because it sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time he’d been pissed at Luke.

“Okay. Follow me.”

And Calum is there, smoking a cigarette, and he chokes when he sees you trailing behind Luke. He switches between you, who he looks at in shock, and Luke, who he looks at in anger. His cigarette is thrown to the ground and he stomps on it to put it out. He thinks for a moment about what a waste that is, that he’d only just started smoking it. He doesn’t think about the reason why he didn’t keep it instead, that he knows you don’t like to breathe in his second-hand smoke.

He strides over to you, murmuring to Luke that he’ll deal with him later, and grabs your arm gently, trying to pull you away, to a more secluded area.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, sounding more angry than he’s ever allowed himself to be with you.

“I left my journal at your house. I need it.”

“And you couldn’t wait to tell me this?” he asks incredulously. “You had to bother my friend and interrupt us?”

“Whoa, sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting anything. It’s not like I don’t have better places to be,” you say defensively, “And yes, it’s important. That journal… it’s… I just need it back and I needed to tell you right away. Okay? And Luke didn’t seem very bothered to me. He was really helpful, actually. And nicer to me than you’re being.” Your voice is a huff of frustration by the end of your sentence.

“Well excuse me for wanting some fucking privacy.”

“Ha! You want privacy outside a public building? Good luck with that. I mean I know we don’t run in the same social circles, but I didn’t realize I was this much of an embarrassment to you.”

Calum is taken aback. He hadn’t expected you to be so defensive, and he really hadn’t been aware of how much this was bothering you.

“You… [Y/N], you’re not… I’m not embarrassed by you.”

“Well, you have a funny way of showing it. I can deal with not having a conventional friendship with you, I can. I get that you are who you are. I thought I could handle all of that. But I can’t pretend that it doesn’t bother me every time you search a room for witnesses when we talk in a public space. I can’t pretend it doesn’t bother me that your face turned blood red when you saw me just now in front of your friends. Like you don’t want them to know about me. My friends know about you, but now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve kept quiet. Don’t want to piss you off.”

“This isn’t a movie, [Y/N]. I’m not some misunderstood rebel with a heart of gold that the sweetheart main character finds and changes for the better.”

“You’re an idiot, that’s what you are,” you say, not sure if you’re really as angry as you think you feel. “Who said I’m trying to change you? I like Calum Hood, whatever that name brings with it. I just wish you liked me enough to not be ashamed to even be seen talking to me. What kind of friendship is that?”

Calum doesn’t know what else to say. He feels guilty now, in a way he never has before. You really accepted him for what he is? That’s a concept he’s not used to, even now, even after spending so much time with you. And he mentally scolds himself for treating you so poorly at the expense of his own reputation. Isn’t he the one who “doesn’t care what other people think”? And now he cares too much.

He still hasn’t spoken when you say, “Fine, whatever. I need that journal back, so I’ll be at your house at 3. If you’re not there, I’ll wait until you are, and I’ll be out of your hair after that.” It’s hard for you to say, and you don’t feel like any sort of weight has been lifted, but it’s done and you walk away. You don’t know how the rest of your day is going to go, but you  _do_  know that you’re not going to tell Sam about this. The last thing you need is an “I told you so.” 


	10. Chapter 10

When Calum finally regains the ability to move, he heads back to Luke and Michael, who are quiet. They’d honestly heard every word of his conversation with you, and were waiting for him to come back. Luke was mostly bracing for impact. **  
**

But Calum wasn’t angry. Not really, not at you or Luke or anyone but himself in that moment. He looked not quite sad, but conflicted. All he says is,

“Anyone up for drinks on the pier tonight? I’ll call Ash after school.”

He knows he has a lot to think about. He sticks his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and feels for your journal with his left hand. His brain is screaming at him to run and find you, for not giving it to you already, for not finding you himself this morning like he’d planned, but he knows he fucked up and he’s not ready to face you again just yet. The leather binding feels comforting beneath his fingers, and he doesn’t let himself think about how it reminds him of you and your own usually comforting presence.

You try not to think about that morning or Calum or anything but the friends beside you in class and your schoolwork. The car ride to Calum’s house is longer than usual because of your dread and anxiousness. He’s not home yet, but his mom is, and she lets you in with a smile, saying that you can wait for him. You don’t have the heart to tell her that you’re not there for any necessarily _good_ reason.

When Calum does arrive home, his body is stiff and his face is hard and you know he’s tense.

“Hey,” he says when he sees you.

“Where’s my journal?” is all you reply with.

He looks up and breathes in deeply before reaching into his pocket. You gasp when he pulls out your journal and begins to hand it to you. But you don’t take it quite yet, too busy looking at Calum in disbelief.

“How long have you had that with you?” you ask, clearly unhappy.

“Since this morning. I noticed you’d left it on my bed, so I was going to return it to you.”

“Wh… I can’t believe… You… Did you look in it?” your voice is shaking now. Calum is prepared to lie and say “no” when you interrupt, “Nevermind. I’d rather not know. Just give it back.” You take the journal from his hands.

“I never meant to hold onto it all this time. But after this morning I… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Are you really sorry? Because I’m not sure you are… but I am,” you say, and Calum thinks you’re talking about more than him keeping your stories from you all day.

“[Y/N]…” he starts.

“You know what I think? I think that you’re so used to playing this part that you truly believe you don’t give a crap. You think caring is weakness. But you care. Just as much as the rest of us dumb teenagers. Why else would you bother to put up a front at all? You don’t think I know you because you don’t want to let me in, but I see you, Calum Hood. I see behind this whole fucking facade you’ve created. It’s a shame you’re so deep in it that you can’t see out.”

Calum shifts awkwardly in place. Part of his mind is telling him to respond, to defend himself, to yell, to get the point across that  _you’re wrong_. But you’re not wrong, not really. He remains quiet.

“I care about you, okay? I care about you enough to let you see  _this_ ,” you hold up your journal. “I’ve never shown anyone these. Not even my other friends. This is so fucking personal and you knew that and you held onto it all fucking day. When you knew I wanted it back so desperately. And  _you_  had the audacity to be mad at  _me_  earlier… I can’t…” you stop, your emotions too haywire to allow you to get your thoughts straight.

“I really am sorry, [Y/N]” Calum repeats. You shake your head.

“I don’t know that I believe you, Calum. But it’s fine. If you still want help with homework, from now on I’ll be at the library at our usual time every Wednesday. I’ll help you with academic stuff, not that you need my help, but only that. That way you don’t have to worry about being seen with me. You can just tell everyone that Barnes forced you.”

And yeah, you regret saying all of that, but you know what it’s like to be treated like dirt and you’re not going to allow that opportunity to arise with Calum. You don’t think whatever progress you’d made with him would go any further, and he sure as hell isn’t making an effort to prove otherwise as you walk out the door, alone. You clutch your journal tightly and bring it to your chest, as if that will stop the tears from coming down your cheeks.

Calum regrets not saying anything other than a useless apology, but he never has been great with verbalizing his feelings. He watches you walk out the door, wishing he had the right words to say, the right excuse to give. But he doesn’t. So he grabs what he needs and heads down to the pier early to meet his bandmates.

He’s already downed more whiskey than he knows he should have by the time Ashton arrives. Of course Ash is the first one to get there - he always was the most responsible and punctual of their group.

“Save some for the rest of us?” Ash jokes, glaring at the bottle in Calum’s hand. Calum pulls it to his side, out of view. “I was joking, mate.”

“I know,” Calum says, but he doesn’t move the whiskey. He suddenly feels embarrassed for feeling the need to numb himself this way.

Ashton knows something is up, Michael had filled him in on the morning’s events, but it still doesn’t make sense to him that Calum seems so rattled. He sits down next to his friend, but doesn’t say anything. Calum sighs.

“Why do we have feelings?”

Ashton turns to look at Calum, partially amused at the seemingly random question from Calum of all people, and partially concerned.

“I don’t know, man.”

“I thought you knew everything. All the secrets of the world and shit. Since you’re like, ancient.”

“Hey!” Ashton laughs. “I’m less than 2 years older than you. I ought to smack you.”

“But you won’t. You love me.”

“Unfortunately. What’s up with you today?” he figures the ice has been broken enough to allow him to sneak in the question.

“People. Person. A person. It’s dumb. Nevermind.”

“Ohhh no no no. Not nevermind. Is this about [Y/N]? Michael told me what happened.”

_Of course he did_  Calum thinks. “He doesn’t know everything that happened.” Calum doesn’t know why he’s even saying anything. It must be the whiskey talking. And he lets it. He tells Ashton the day’s events, and even spills his - ugh -  _feelings_  about it. It’s the first time he’s really opened up like that to anyone or anything besides a sheet of paper. The alcohol was meant to make him numb, but all it was succeeding in doing was to make Calum more emotional.

“I like [Y/N], Ash. Like I really _liiiiike_  them. That’s not like me.”

“[Y/N] doesn’t seem like most of the other people you know.”

“They’re not. They… God. I fucked up. Why can’t I just be normal and tell people things, huh, Ash?” Calum leans his head onto Ashton’s shoulder and looks out toward the water. He’s tempted to take another swig of whiskey, but his head is spinning too much and his arms are feeling kind of limp. Ashton doesn’t talk, he just lets Calum ramble on and off. “Fuckin… I invaded [Y/N]’s privacy today… I’m such a  _dick_. Why am I  _such a dick_? They write these stories and oh man are they beautiful and I read one today and I swear to sweet baby Jesus it seemed like it was about us - like me and [Y/N], not me and you - why would it be about me and you? They don’t know you. Anyway. Like I think maybe they  _like_  me too but of course I don’t know how to handle that so I pushed them away and made them think they  _embarrass_ me and I’m so stupid.”

“Yeah,” Ashton agrees, and Calum doesn’t react like he normally would.

“They said they’d just help me with my  _homework_  now and I mean  _gross_. Like I really want to do homework? I just want to see [Y/N].”

“Then do it, Cal.”

“Wha?”

“Just go see [Y/N]. You can complain all you want about how you fucked up, but nothing’s going to change unless you  _do something_.” Ashton hopes his advice isn’t falling on drunk-deaf ears. He wants Calum to be happy, he’s his friend, and this is the best advice he’s got.

“They’re not going to listen.”

“You won’t know unless you try.”

Calum lets Ashton’s words sink in. That’s his problem. Not  _trying_. For fear of what? Rejection? That couldn’t hurt worse than what he’s feeling right now.

By the time Luke and Michael show up, booze in hand, laughter echoing through the air, Calum’s had enough. Enough to drink (more than), enough to say, enough of  _people_. He says his goodbyes and walks home, slowly, thinking about what he wants to say to you. He wonders if he should call you now, while his feelings are out in the open, flowing through him like the alcohol in his blood. But he knows, even in his state, better than to call anyone while drunk, especially you. So he slips into his house as quietly as he can and falls asleep among a pile of lyric sheets. 


	11. Chapter 11

Calum waits before trying to reason with you, hoping you’ll have cooled off at some point. But you’re waiting for him to say something to you, anything at all. It’s a stalemate that neither of you want or realize you’re perpetuating. But Calum isn’t as patient as you are, and so he breaks first. Before you leave Barnes’ class on Monday, he stands before the door and stops you. **  
**

“Need homework help? Otherwise, let me through,” you say, annoyance in your voice.

“Yeah, actually. I wrote something and I need you to check it over for me. It can’t wait until Wednesday, though.”

“Fine. Tonight. Library. Now let me through.” Calum moves, and you walk past him. You wonder if he realizes that he didn’t check even once to see if the coast was clear that entire time he spoke to you.

Calum runs home after school to grab what he needs, and rushes to the library. He’s there before you - he knows because he doesn’t see your car in the lot - and leans against the wall by the back entrance.

You try not to stare too much at him once you get out of your car and walk to the library. Before you can say a word, Calum is walking toward you.

“Library’s the other way,” you say.

“I know.” He takes your hand and leads you further into the parking lot, toward a pavilion behind it. You’re confused and a little unsettled, and still angry at Calum, but you don’t make any moves to protest.

“I thought you had homework for me to check over.”

“I have _something_  for you to check over. Well, something I need your opinion on. But it’s not homework.”

“Calum, _I told you_ -”

“I know what you told me, okay, [Y/N]? Just loosen up for a minute and let me try something here. If this doesn’t work we can go do homework and I won’t complain about it or try and get you off topic. I promise.”

The closer you get to the pavilion, the more it looks like there’s something under it. You can make out Michael Clifford and Luke Hemmings, and a third person you assume to be the mysterious and illusive Ashton Irwin. They’ve all got instruments, and there’s a lone bass that you assume is Calum’s - you think you saw it in his room the last time you were there.

“What’s going on?”

“Just… sit,” Calum says, leading you to a chair. You’re feeling anxious - you can’t tell if it’s good or bad or both - and can’t think to do anything but what Calum instructs. You sit with your legs together, hands grasping your knees to try and relieve the tension you feel. Calum’s bandmates all look slightly amused, but give you looks of reassurance, and you look away, unable to meet their gazes. You don’t want to be here, this all feels so awkward, and you wish you could have kept your life simple, the way it was before Calum Hood came along. Or so you tell yourself. (Because really, that  _uncomplicated-ness_  was actually just  _boring_.)

“Look, [Y/N], I don’t know how to say the things I know you want to hear, and I don’t know how to tell you how I feel. Because that’s uncharted territory for me. But one thing I do know how to do is music. I just… I hope it’s enough.” His voice sounds weak, almost defeated, but only  _almost_.

And he and his friends have your full, undivided attention as they begin to play a song - one you’ve never heard - and your heart feels like it’s doing cartwheels. It’s not just Calum singing, but you can see that he’s feeling every part of the song and you know it’s something he’s written. And he looks you right in the eyes, mouthing along when Luke sings the bridge,

“Every time you’re near me, suddenly my heart begins to race. Every time I leave, I don’t know why my heart begins to break.”

And when the song ends you don’t know what to do or how to react because  _what_? This song is about you, and Calum gathered his band just to play it for you and again,  _what_? Your chest feels light and airy and your head is spinning and the only thing you can think to do it get up and walk - run, really - somewhere, anywhere else. Was he  _serious_? He can’t get himself to speak to you in public but oh he has feelings for you? Or are you going insane? You’re going insane, you think. There’s no way Calum fucking Hood _likes_  you. And you’re breathing rapidly when you approach a bench and sit down. You can’t stop all of the conflicting emotions within you from making you feel nauseous and just… so damn overwhelmed.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? For Calum to actually communicate with you? For him to show that he actually gave a crap? So why did you run away?

You don’t have long to let yourself think before Calum is beside you. He’s slightly out of breath, he ran after you as soon as he noticed you’d run off. And he sits beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder, hesitantly.

He’s scared, and he accepts it. Was the song too much? Had he misread you? Maybe you really were too good for him and it was just wishful thinking that your story was about the two of you together. You’re just a nice person who gave him a shot at friendship and he blew it and made it worse by freaking you out. But… he had  _tried_. Tried to show you how  _he_  felt, whether or not you felt the same way. And he was actually kind of… proud? of himself for that. And now he just wants to know where you guys stand with each other.

When he sees you practically panicking he becomes scared in a whole new way. He doesn’t know how to comfort you, but places his hand gently on your shoulder in an attempt to show you he’s there. Your breathing slows down and you feel a little less dizzy at his touch. It takes a moment before you can turn to look at him.

“So… yeah. That was uh, about you, if you hadn’t guessed,” Calum laughs nervously. “Sorry if I freaked you out.”

“No, I just… I wasn’t expecting that. Calum, where the hell did that come from?”

“Listen, I… I wrote that song because I didn’t know how else to express what I was feeling. It’s hard for me to do that verbally, and it’s hard for me to face what’s going on with me in general sometimes. I never meant to make you think I was embarrassed of you. I wasn’t and I’m not. The reason I was so wary of people seeing us together was because I didn’t want to cause you any trouble. I thought that  _you_  should be embarrassed of  _me_. You, [Y/N] are great. Like, so great. I’m just a douche who doesn’t know how to deal.”

“I’m sorry for blowing up at you. I should’ve maybe understood a little better.”

“How could you understand better if I didn’t let you? Don’t be sorry, really. I’m sorry I tried to push you away. That wasn’t how I should have handled my feelings. Obviously. It took me some time to realize that.”

“I… Calum?”

“Mhmm?”

“I really do like you.”

“You deserve better than me.”

“True,” you smile, and he pretends to look offended. “But I like  _you_. I honestly don’t know how many ways I can say that. I thought it was obvious.”

“I don’t know how to do any of this. I’m going to disappoint you.”

“Life’s full of disappointments. You’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. No one is. I’m willing to give us a shot if you are. But you just have to be willing to try.”

“Of course I’ll try. For you. And if I don’t, I know you’ll be right there to yell at me until I do.”


	12. Chapter 12

Calum gets up and stands in front of you, his hand outstretched. You’re still a little shaken up and overwhelmed, so you don’t react. He chuckles and takes your hand, pulling you up gently.

“Come on. I want you to meet my bandmates.”

And he does. He knows that they’ll like you - and even if they don’t, they’ve shown that they care enough about Calum’s happiness to have his back, even when he asks them last minute to perform a new song down by the city library.  And he thinks that those three dudes are better guys than he is, so if you can see the good in him, you’ll like them, too.

And maybe Calum really has made some sort of breakthrough, really has decided to try with you, so you let yourself feel his warm hand and the tingling sensation it brings over yours as you two walk back to the pavilion.

“Does this mean I can have you meet, like really meet, my friends, too?” you ask.

“I don’t think they’d like me, [Y/N]. I see the way they look at me at school.”

“That’s because they’re easily influenced by our peers. But  _I_  like you. And they’re my friends, so they support me. Even if they’re not quite sure what it is that they’re supporting. Once they meet you they’ll understand.”

Calum sighs, “Alright.” He’s not sure that you’re right, but he’s in too deep with this whole _trying_  thing already. He might as well. This is all so weird for him, though.

“Looks like you’ve got some pretty supportive friends, too,” you say, looking between Calum and his bandmates.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. And for once, he really,  _really_  thinks about just how much those three boys mean to him. How much they’ve been there for him and supported him whether he wanted them to or not. And he wonders for a moment how they’ve put up with him all this time. He’d be lost without them, though, that much he knows for sure.

You’re formally introduced to Luke and Michael, who you’d only really seen in passing in the halls. They’re nice, from what you can gather. Michael is the first of the boys to approach you, smiling sweetly and talking maybe a little too loudly. Luke hangs back, but you notice he wears his thoughts upon his face, never once hiding his facial expressions in reaction to his surroundings. You meet Ashton, who you’d only known as Calum’s older friend who’d graduated from another school in the area already. And while you still feel a little awkward about all of _this_ , about how this is the first time you’re meeting them, about the fact that they’d all just played a song for an audience of one, you’re happy. They seem to like you and you like them and both you and Calum are relieved when an hour (or two?) has passed and you’re all still talking.

“Hey uh, I think we’ve gotta leave soon,” Ashton says, “They’re using this pavilion for some event tonight.”

“Yeah, let’s clear out. Luke, you’re driving, right? I’ll grab the guitars. It was nice actually talking you, [Y/N]. Hopefully now Cal won’t hide you from us anymore,” Michael says, smiling.

“It was nice talking to you guys, too. And it was nice meeting you, Ashton,” you reply. You’re next to Calum and suddenly realize that your hand is still in his.

Luke grabs Calum’s bass, and seeing him making no moves to leave, asks, “Want us to take this for you?” He holds the bass up.

“We can put it in my car,” you offer, speaking softly and turning to look up at Calum, “I can drive you home or whatever. If you want.”

Calum nods at you and then looks to Luke, “Nah, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.” Luke shrugs and waves goodbye, hurrying to catch up with Michael, who’s already waiting impatiently by his car.

You load Calum’s bass into your car, and you drive him home, a comfortable silence filling the atmosphere. There’s so much more that you two need to talk about, but you’re content to let things be for the moment.

“I swear I’ll have my license and my own car soon, so I won’t have to keep getting rides from you,” Calum says.

You laugh, “It’s fine. I really don’t mind. And I offered.”

“Yeah, but I want to be able to pick you up in my sweet ride to go places rather than pawn off you all the time.”

“And what places would we be going to?”

“Well, that, [Y/N] would be a surprise. Which is why I’d need a sweet ride to take you there.” He can’t keep in a chuckle, which causes you to laugh in response.

“Okay, well, until you get that ‘sweet ride,’ you’ll just have to deal with [Y/N]’s taxi service, I guess.”

“Does this mean I have to tip you now?”

“I mean, if you’re offering. It is the polite thing to do when taking a taxi, though. And I could use the cash.”

“How about a date on Friday instead?”

“Mmm, dates aren’t my favorite of the fruits. I’d prefer an apple, to be honest. And just one date? Kinda cheap if you ask me. Those things aren’t very big.”

Calum rolls his eyes, but smiles while doing so. “How about I take you to dinner-”

“You mean _I’ll_  take  _you_  since I have a car,” you interrupt.

“Shut up; I’m trying to be all nice here. Don’t ruin it.”

“Sorry, sorry, go on.”

“ _As I was saying_ , how about I  _treat you_  to dinner, and maybe a movie? Friday?” he asks, finally. He looks at you, confident he’s worded the question perfectly so that you can’t make any more smart remarks.

“Throw in an apple and I’m in.” 


	13. Chapter 13

The next day at school is  _different_ , to say the least. Calum approaches you at your locker before lunch, and your interaction doesn’t go unnoticed. He leans against the lockers beside you, waiting for you to pay attention to him. You’re surprised - though not unhappy - to see him standing there. You look at him and smile in acknowledgment.

“Hey, so are you entering that essay contest Barnes talked about?” Calum asks you as your grab your lunch. You close your locker and turn to him.

“I was thinking about it. Couldn’t hurt. Why?”

“I was thinking about entering, too. But if you are, then I’ve got no-”

“Really?! You definitely should.”

“I don’t think I’d win.”

“So? What’ll it hurt if you don’t? And you definitely could win… and if you do, that’s some pretty sweet recognition. You’ll be  _published_. If I don’t win, you should. We’re entering.”

“If you say so,” he responds nonchalantly. “But if I’m going to be writing something  _outside of my_   _already piling schoolwork_  - thanks for that, by the way - I’m going to need some extra one-on-one time with my tutor.” Calum raises his brows and smiles at you. You roll your eyes back at him and keep your own smile hidden.

The two of you walk to the cafeteria  _together_ , talking, and while Calum feels anxious and way too self conscious, he just tries to focus on you and the calming effect you have on him. He talks to your friends during lunch - he speaks as little as he can, but he’s polite - and while they still think you’re kind of crazy, they also think that maybe they have some re-evaluating to do. And the rest of the school… well, they’re buzzing with gossip and rumors. A lot about Calum possibly taking advantage of you, scaring you into hanging out with him, manipulation. The usual crap that he hears daily in different forms. He can handle that, it’s fine, he’s used to it. But some of the rumors are attacking _you_ , and oh no, Calum won’t have that.

His first instinct is to distance himself from you, but he’s tried that and he knows it’s not the solution. But he has a lot of pent up emotion and feels like doing something reckless so after school he corners the biggest loudmouth he’d found talking shit about you and teaches him a lesson. And his knuckles ache because he doesn’t think he’s ever actually hit anyone that hard before and fuck, he knows he can’t beat up every person who’s made him mad today. So he finds you before you’ve left school so that he can talk to you.

You’d heard the rumors - all of them - today, too, so you aren’t surprised to see Calum looking a little roughed up, rubbing his hands as he approaches you. Although you aren’t happy he’s apparently been fighting, you’re more concerned for him than anything.

“[Y/N], are you sure you want to do this?” Calum asks, his voice quiet. “It’s just going to cause you trouble.”

“Rumors have already started. I can deal with people who don’t know anything saying whatever stupid crap comes into their heads. It’s just part of school. It’s not worth losing you over.”

Calum laughs, but there’s no humor in his voice. “You say that now.”

“And I’ll say it over and over again until you believe it. Besides, I already have cute outfit ideas for our date so you can’t cancel on me now,” you smile and push his arm gently. He winces - only slightly, but enough to keep you from touching him again. He does manage to smile, even through the small amount of pain.

“Don’t wear anything too fancy. I’ve got a plan.”

And he really does. One that you’re not prepared for. That Friday, you get yourself ready, only stopping to pay attention to your neighbor’s dog, who your parents had agreed to pet-sit over the weekend. You’re rubbing behind her ears and talking in a baby voice when you hear the doorbell ring.

You open the door to find Calum, and you ask, “Wh-what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at your house?”

“I told you I had a plan. And it includes me showing up to your door like any gentleman would do. Oh, and these,” he pulls his hands out from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and you wonder if and how he knows. He looks as confident as ever and his grin is so big it could light up your whole front yard. You take the flowers from him and strategically hold them up to block the blush you can feel invading your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you say, moving over to let him come inside. “You really didn’t have to do this. I mean, it’s the 21st century. I appreciate the chivalrous acts, but you don’t have to do that.”

“Just let me be a gentleman, huh?”

“Okay,” you say, too quickly. You find a vase for the flowers. “They’re beautiful.”

“I had a feeling you’d like them. They reminded me of you.”

You can feel that blush coming again and are scrambling to figure out what to say next when you hear Perdita, the dog, barking. You’re broken from your trance and turn to find her at the doorway, staring at Calum.

“You never told me you had a dog,” he says, and there’s a light in his eyes.

“I don’t. We’re dogsitting for our neighbor. Her name’s Perdita.” You crouch down and pat your leg, beckoning her to come over to you. She does, happily, and you laugh when she licks your face and hair. “Hey, stop, you’re gonna ruin my hard work!” you laugh. “Do you want to pet her? She’s really friendly. Or do you not like dogs? Oh I hope you’re not allergic! Ah I can put her outside if you want or-”

“It’s fine, you’re fine, she’s fine,” Calum laughs. “I love dogs.” He bends down and Perdita trots over to him, checking him out.

“I think she likes you,” you say.

“Good, ‘cause I like her too,” he says, his voice similar to the baby voice you’d used earlier. He rubs her ears and neck and smiles with his mouth open and his eyes crinkled. “I’ve never had a dog. Always wanted one. But I can barely take care of myself, so for now I’m good with just loving other people’s dogs.”

You like seeing Calum like this. He seems carefree and happy when interacting with Perdita and you sort of want to get him a dog or at least convince him to get one so he’ll be like that all the time. And you two spend an hour on your living room floor talking and playing with the dog before you realize that  _oh right_ , you had plans.

“So, what are we doing?” you ask.

“I want to take you somewhere. If you don’t mind walking. Like, I could carry you, but it’s really not that far.”

“I would’ve just walked, no question, but since you bring up carrying me…”

“[Y/N],” Calum looks at you as if to say  _are you kidding_? And no, you’re not, not entirely. You mostly want to see how far you can push him. “Fine, but if we’re seen by anyone, and I mean _anyone_ , I’m dropping you like a hot potato.”

“Deal,” you giggle, not quite believing he caved so fast. Calum catches you off guard when he swoops you up bridal style, and smirks when you squeal in surprise.

“I hope you know how lucky you are to have such a gentleman like me.” 


	14. Chapter 14

You’re at the end of your street when you figure you’ll cut Calum some slack. He really has gone above and beyond for you this week.

“You can let me down, Cal. Sorry for being a pain. I was mostly joking.”

“Nope. You wanted me to carry you. I’m carrying you.”

“Really. You can put me down. I’ll walk.”

Calum only holds you tighter in response. You laugh and relax in his arms. He smells like coffee and chocolate, with only a hint of smoke. Calum won’t quit smoking, even for you, at least not yet, but he tried his best to cover the smell for you. And you won’t admit it, but you’ve come to associate the smell of smoke with Calum, and it’s sort of comforting.

It isn’t long before you arrive by the water, and Calum finally lets you down. He takes your hand and leads you to a pier, one you’d only ever been to a couple of times. You wait for him as he runs off for a moment, returning to you with a basket and blanket. He takes you to the end of the pier, setting the blanket down before you sit on top of it.

“We made it just in time,” he says, looking up. “Sun hasn’t set yet. That was kind of a pivotal part of all this.”

“This… you set up a picnic for us?”

“Yeah. I hope that’s cool. I just thought it’d be more rom- I thought it’d be more chill than going to some fancy restaurant. Less awkward, less pressure. More…  _us_.” He starts to take out containers, and you laugh when you see what looks like spaghetti inside.

“You had your mom make us food?” you ask.

“No!” he gasps, feigning shock, “I made it myself, thank you very much… maybe with some help from my mom but  _I made it_.”

And the spaghetti is cold due to your lost time spent with Perdita, but you eat it anyway and enjoy it. The two of you sit, pasta in hands, and watch the sun set over the water, making it sparkle. The sky looks like cotton candy and your stomach feels like a cotton candy maker with how much your insides are spinning.

“Don’t tell anyone I said this,” Calum starts, “But I love how pretty these sunsets are. I come here all the time to watch them. My bandmates think we just come here to hang out away from the world, but I like to watch how the sky lights up, like a fire that’s been dipped in wine. That sounds weird, but it makes sense in my head.”

“No, I like that description. I was trying to think of how to describe it myself. Usually I watch the sunrise; it’s been awhile since I’ve caught a sunset. I’m glad you took me here. It is beautiful.”

Calum keeps himself from saying the obvious, that the sunset isn’t the only beautiful thing here. He just sighs contentedly and leans back, soaking in the calm of the moment. You’re sitting up, a little in front of Calum, with your knees against your chest, arms hugging your legs. He finds himself looking between the sunset and you, wondering how he got so lucky to be here. Wondering how long this would last.

He was right, this was much better than a formal date. There isn’t any pressure, and you can hang out and talk like you normally would, but there’s still a feeling in the air of _more_. It’s actually pretty darn romantic, and you think to yourself that you shouldn’t be so surprised. Calum’s a pretty thoughtful and poetic person when you dig deep enough.

You’re taken out of your thoughts when you see Calum get up and lean down toward you. The sun has set all the way and the only light you have is the moon’s glow, reflecting off the water. But you can see him perfectly. He looks relaxed as he holds out his hand. He’s not quite sure what’s come over him, but he decides not to question it.

“May I have this dance?”

“There’s no music,” you giggle.

“Who needs music? Besides, if that’s really a problem I can just play something from my phone. Or I can sing to you.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, allowing Calum to pull you up and into his arms. He smiles and draws you as close as he can, and it’s almost more like you’re just hugging than anything. His arms are over yours as you place your hands on his back, and he rests his chin on the top of your head. The two of you sway back and forth, and you can hear Calum humming a song that sounds familiar. You turn your head against his chest and feel the soothing beat of his heart and Calum’s humming turns into a sort of murmur-singing.

_“And I would answer all of your wishes, if you asked me to… But if you deny me one of your kisses, I don’t know what I’d do…”_

You’re glad it’s dark and that your face is practically buried in his chest so that he can’t see your growing smile and the red that you’re sure is lacing your cheeks. But Calum’s stopped singing. And you’re not swaying together anymore. So you look up, right into his shining brown eyes that are looking at you both expectantly and curiously. He furrows his brows for a moment and inhales deeply. Neither of you break eye contact.

“May I kiss you?” he finally asks.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly. You think about how nice it is that he asked, but you’re not allowed to think for too long.

Calum is hesitant, even with your consent, and moves his head slowly to meet yours. You can feel his breath ghosting over your own and too much time passes before your lips finally meet. There are no sparks, no fireworks, but a warmth spreads over you, sending shivers down your spine, and you can only think about _happiness_  as you pull each other closer.

But you’re closer to the edge of the pier than you’d realized and when Calum tries to pull you up, closer to him, the momentum pushes him backwards, too quickly. He lets go of you immediately, not wanting to take you down, too, and you squeak in protest at the loss of touch before you open your eyes to see him land in the water. He makes a big enough splash to hit you, and you can’t help but stand there, wet and laughing as he rises to the surface.

“Oh, you think it’s funny?” Calum says, a threat in his voice. He’s smiling mischievously. Before you can answer, he’s at the edge of the pier, pulling you in with him. He catches you in the water and you splash him. “Oh-ho-ho, it’s on.”

The water is cold and you don’t know what else is swimming around with you, but neither of you care as you play-fight and splash each other. Eventually, Calum grows tired of the game and pulls you to him, not letting you escape his grasp.

“So uh, where were we?” he asks, leaning down to catch your lips with his. 


	15. Chapter 15

“I didn’t realize your hair was  _this_  curly,” you say.

You and Calum are sitting on the pier with the blanket wrapped around both of you in an attempt to dry off. It’s only partially-working, but neither of you mind that much. Calum’s hair is the only thing that’s actually close to dry. He usually straightens it, or styles it so that it looks more wavy than curly, and while you like how it usually looks, you also now have an appreciation for his natural look.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “It’s a mess.”

“I think it looks good.”

“You’re a very convincing liar, you know that?”

“I’m not lying,” you laugh, nudging him with your elbow. “I like your curly hair.”

“Thanks,” he says after a moment of thought. “I like _you_.”

“I like you too, Cal.”

“So, how’d you rank this date, one through 10?”

“Um, 9.5.”

“Ooh, where’d that half a point go?”

“I mean, you never gave me that apple I asked for.”

Calum bursts into laughter. “Oh  _come on_. You think I’d forget that?” He reaches into the picnic basket and pulls out two apples. “Red Delicious or Granny Smith?”

“Well, Mr. Hood, looks like you get a 10.” You take your apple of choice and hold it, not sure what to do with it. Calum had outsmarted you, and your teasing had only been a joke. You laugh, and Calum laughs too, until you’re both giggling like idiots. When you settle down, you’re shivering, and it’s not from the laughter. You let out a small sneeze.

“Bless you,” Calum says, moving closer to you. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you into him, trying to cover you as much as he can. You don’t protest, you only thank him and let his warmth radiate over your body.

You think that by now, the butterflies in your stomach should have gone away, but then again, you’re glad to have this feeling. The two of you are quiet, but it’s a comfortable silence, and you listen to the sound of crickets while staring at the stars. Calum starts humming again, this time something you can’t make out, and his voice decorates the night air beautifully.

Neither of you want to leave, but you know you have to. Your parents are expecting you to come home at some sort of decent hour. Calum has some things he wants to get down on paper at home before he forgets. So you help Calum pack up what’s left of the picnic and he walks you home. Occasionally he hits your side with his hip, and you hit him back, until your hands are intertwined and you’re both hiding smiles from each other.

The rest of the weekend is a blur, and you only remember playing with Perdita, wishing Calum was there, too. Calum only remembers writing, playing guitar and bass, writing, and playing, wishing he could get out all of the thoughts in his head clearly in one try.

The rumors have calmed down at school, a little, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the extra amount of silence surrounding Calum when he walks up to you before Literature. People seemed even more afraid to say anything, even around you. But you don’t care about that, not really, because your friends are starting to open their eyes and you have Calum with you and a future ahead.

Barnes gives you a look you can’t quite decipher when he sees you and Calum sitting next to each other in class, talking animatedly. And when he calls on Calum to answer a question, instead of giving an exasperated sigh and deflecting, he actually  _answers_. Correctly. Thoroughly. Barnes looks at you again with raised brows and shakes his head in disbelief. You keep in a laugh.

And Calum doesn’t care so much about putting up his front of  _not actually caring_ , at least in Literature. Because you’ve given him real confidence in that area. And he’s accepted that he not only enjoys this stuff, but he’s good at it, and he wants to be even better. He ignores, really ignores the stares he gets from everyone when he speaks up in class, and focuses on learning. Really.

And when you meet up after school to work on your essays for the contest, he’s buzzing with ideas and more excited than you’ve seen him maybe  _ever,_ besides every time you’ve been with him around a dog of any sort.

“Look, [Y/N], I have like three topics I’m thinking about talking about, but I don’t know which one to pick. I could probably write a lot about any of them. But like, what do you think they’d find more impressive?” He bites the end of his pen and looks at you curiously.

“Don’t worry about what someone else would be impressed by. Pick the one you’re most connected to, that you know you’ll be able to write best. Your actual writing is what will impress them.”

When you finally get to read over Calum’s finished essay, you know you’re not going to win. He insists you’re being too nice, and that you should give it to him straight, but you’re being honest. You know some of this year’s judges, what they look for in potential winners, and Calum’s got it down.

And he’s thrown through a loop a few months later when he gets a letter in the mail saying he’s the recipient of an award of $5,000, and a letter informing him he’ll be in the next issue of the newspaper.

Barnes wants to share it with the class. Calum wants to take the money and run to the nearest hole he can find. He’s not in class when your teacher reads the essay - anonymously. But it’s not like that matters, Calum figures, since it’s a published work now. People can find it. They’ll know it’s him. But… is that really so bad?

You find him and Michael in their spot during lunch, and Michael excuses himself to go find Luke. “Got some stuff to… ya know. Do. See ya.”

Calum’s slumped against the wall, smoking a cigarette, and goes to put it out. You stop him, saying it’s fine, even though you kind of feel like choking. He shakes his head, smiling because he knows you better than that, and puts it out anyway.

“So, Mr. Published Writer. What’re you gonna do with your newfound cash? You could get that sweet ride.”

He laughs, “I could get  _ **a**_  ride, for sure. Not sure how sweet it’d be. But I was thinking about putting it towards university.”

“Really?” you ask, because he’d never shown any sort of interest in furthering his education before.

“Yeah. Like I could major in English or something. I’m actually good at that, so why not? I could get a real job doing something I like.”

“I’m so proud of you, Cal.”

And you’re smiling bigger than you think your face can handle and you hug Calum tightly. He leans his head down on top of yours and covers your arms with his. His chest is tight and he thinks he might be about to cry, because  _you’re proud of him_ , and if he’s being honest with himself,  _he’s proud of himself_ too.

“I love you, [Y/N].” And it’s the first time Calum’s spoken the words since you began dating, even though he’s felt it for a while now. It feels good to say out loud. It’s maybe the best feeling he’s experienced.

“I love you, too, Cal.” And once the words are out of your mouth Calum realizes that no, _that’s_  the best feeling he’s experienced. Loving you and you loving him back.

Calum Hood is  _still_  the resident bad boy. Covered in tattoos, ripped black clothing, and attitude to match. Except, he doesn’t see a reason to hide the rest of himself anymore. Thanks to you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story! And thank you to those who've said they've enjoyed it. I hope you enjoyed this ending as well!


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